


It's the Blood

by ravenjeep2001



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:53:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenjeep2001/pseuds/ravenjeep2001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insight into Dean's drinking problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s the blood, really.  It gets to you.  You kill a man and the blood washes over you.  It gets into everything.  No matter how often or how hard you wash, you never really wash it away.  It stays with you.  That’s the problem.  It adds up.  No matter how many lives you save, you still have blood on your hands.  You’ve taken a life; an evil life, perhaps, but still a life. 

It’s exhilarating:  the adrenaline pumping, making you strong, making you feel invincible.  You feel everything.  You feel the soft suppleness of flesh as you hold him by the neck.  You feel his fetid breath on your face.  The hatred washes across you in waves as you look into his black eyes.  You feel his defiance.  He knows he’s done but he refuses to give you the satisfaction of begging for mercy.  You feel the slight resistance of flesh as you plunge your knife into his belly.  The warm blood gushes over your hand as you watch him die.  You feel euphoric.  You feel powerful.  You feel indestructible!  You.  Are.  GOD!!!

\-------------------------------------------------------

Dean lifts the bottle to his lips, draining half of it.  The alcohol burns like fire on the way down.  He sighs and clunks the bottle down on the table.  He looks at his hands.  They are clean but he can still see the blood.  It’s everywhere.  On his hands, in his pores, on his clothes.  The whiskey burns in his stomach.  Soon it will make the blood go away…if only for a little while.  He fills his tumbler and shoves back from the table.  All the blood.  He’s tired of it.  He just wants it to go away.  With a quick toss of his head he drains the glass.  White hot fire tracing down his throat.  Another shot quickly follows.  Dean looks at the almost empty bottle.  He empties it into his glass and walks down the hall to the kitchen.  He can feel the effects of the alcohol already; dimming the fringes of his mind.  He opens the cabinet and grabs another bottle.  He looks at his hands.  He can still see the blood.  He drains his glass and pours another shot.

It’s the blood really…


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel could smell the alcohol long before he entered the kitchen.  He knew who he would find in there.  Cas frowned when he saw Dean slumped across the kitchen table, bottle still grasped in his hand. The tumbler was overturned and a small puddle of whiskey dripped slowly onto the floor.  This was not good.  Lately Dean had been drowning himself in alcohol.  Even more so than usual.  Kevin’s death had hit him hard and Cas was worried about his friend. 

With a sigh, Cas removed the empty bottle and tossed it in the trash can.  It shattered as it crashed against the many other bottles.  At least Dean was a neat drunk.  He placed the tumbler in the sink and wiped up the spilled whiskey.  Then he picked Dean up and carried him to the bedroom, carefully depositing him on the bed.  Cas sighed again.  He wished he could remove the demons from Dean’s mind.  Unfortunately, Dean’s demons were his own.  All the grace in heaven could not remove them.  This was a battle Dean must fight himself.  However, Cas thought, it was not a battle he had to go through alone.  At the very least he could ensure Dean got a good night’s sleep, something he rarely got anymore.  He touched his fingers to Dean’s forehead, there was a bright flash, then the troubled look on Dean’s face was gone.  With a deep sigh he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

Cas pulled a chair over to the bedside.  He would wait and make sure nothing bothered him.  There was something in the quick glimpse into Dean’s nightmares that troubled him. 

It was the blood, really…


	3. Chapter 3

Dean slowly clawed his way back to consciousness.  He could not open his eyes yet but he was aware that something was different.  He had been cold and uncomfortable when he downed the last of the whiskey.  Now he was warm, laying on something soft; he was…quite cozy.  He mumbled and slowly opened his eyes.  There was something big, blurry, and close in front of him.  He blinked and Castiel’s face came into focus.

“Hello Dean.”

Dean jumped back and smacked his head on the headboard.  “Dammit Cas!  Personal space!!!  What the hell are you doing here anyway?”  He glared at Cas and rubbed the back of his head.

“I live here?” Cas answered, a bemused look on his face.

“No Cas.  Here.  Right here.  In my room.  In front of my face.  Where you watching me sleep?  And speaking of my room…how the hell did I get here?”

“When I came back, last night, you were passed out in the alcohol.  I carried you here and made sure nobody bothered you.” 

Dean looked at Cas.  “Oh.  You watched me sleep all night?  Cas, that’s just friggin weird.”

Cas was slightly confused at Dean’s reaction.  “You drank too much and you passed out, Dean.  I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt.”

Dean looked down at his rumpled, dirty clothes, rolled his eyes, and muttered “well you could’ve at least tucked me in and read me a story”.

Cas looked at him.  Totally confused.  “Dean, I don’t underst…”

“Forget it, Cas.  Just forget it.”  Dean stood up and noticed the room didn’t spin and his head wasn’t pounding.  “Why the hell am I not hungover?”

Cas brightened a little and said “I wanted to make sure you slept well so I removed the alcohol from your system”.

“You did WHAT?  Dammit, Cas.  Part of getting drunk is the hangover the next morning and the desperate need for coffee, sunglasses, and aspirin!  And what have I told you about ‘healing’ me!  Geezus, Cas.”

Cas watched, askance, as Dean stomped from the room.  Clearly something was troubling Dean if he actually wanted to suffer from a hangover.  Perhaps the headache kept his mind off other things.

The blood, probably.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean staggered through the door, holding onto the frame to keep himself upright. He was dog tired. Dark circles hung ominously under his eyes, witness to the excruciatingly long week. In the past week he had logged more than 3,000 miles on the Impala and spent two days hunting a…what the hell did Sam call it, a Yara-ma-yha-who? Some kind of monster from Australia…and what the fuck was it doing in Florida? Dean sighed. He longed for a good, old fashioned ghost hunt. At least there you know what you were getting into. Not some weird ass monster that sucked most of your blood through its fingers then swallowed you whole…while you were still alive! Finding a fig tree to trap it in was the easy part. Getting it to stay there…that proved…challenging.

Dean shuffled into the kitchen and dropped into a chair. He opened another bottle of whiskey and slugged half of it down before coming up for air. There had been so much blood when they killed the thing. Like it was a friggin giant blood balloon. And the scream! The damn thing wailed like a lost soul. The sound cut through Dean, left him haunted. He didn’t say a word to Sam or Cas the entire ride home.

Dean didn’t even bother with the glass. He swigged the rest of the bottle down and opened another. This time, though, he shuffled off to his room. He’d be damned if he was going to let Cas carry him off to bed again! He sat down on the bed, kicked off his shoes, and peeled off his shirt. Another hefty swig from the new bottle and he could feel his mind begin to blur. At least he stopped hearing that damn scream.

An hour later Cas appeared in the doorway. Dean was sprawled face down on the floor, half a bottle of whiskey on the dresser and an empty bottle on the floor, neatly placed by the trash can. He shook his head. He wanted to help Dean back into bed, but after the last time…he didn’t want to make Dean mad again.

He noticed Dean’s shirt thrown over a chair. Dean hadn’t changed it. He’d worn it the whole way home. It had been a white t-shirt.

Now it was red with blood.


End file.
